VIOLA


    Jamal’s smile faltered just a bit, his eyes widened as if he had been caught in the headlights. "Viola," he said, almost pleading. Immediately he removed his hand from the other woman’s waist. “What are you doing here?"


    His arms opened for an embrace, but I stepped back, my heart thundering against my ribs as that sweet, floral scent hit me again. The same perfume from that night outside of the club, when he''d shown up smelling like…her.


    I focused again on the woman with long black tresses and a lime green satin dress. She was petite, slimmer than me. Though I wasn''t overweight—my chest was ample and my curves filled out dresses in ways that usually drew appreciative glances.


    Nevertheless, the other woman seemed well put together and the kind of woman George would approve of. Who knew which fork to use at fancy dinners and wouldn''t spit out caviar into napkins.


    Jamal dropped his arms to his sides awkwardly as he realized I was retreating. "Harper, this is Viola," Jamal scrambled, his tone wavering slightly. "Viola, Harper Montgomery."


    Even her last name sounded so pristine.


    My chest constricted as I studied her. Everything about her screamed polished professional—from her perfectly styled hair to her practiced smile. She carried herself with the easy confidence that suggested early thirties sophistication, while I, despite being of age, still got carded at bars.


    "It''s lovely to finally meet you," Harper said with such practiced politeness. "Jamal''s told me so much about his... friend."


    Her perfectly manicured fingers slid possessively around my boyfriend''s bicep—though I suppose now, I can''t call him that. The gesture was practiced, familiar.


    “How long?” I tore my eyes away from Harper, and glowered on Jamal. “All those late nights at the office, the missed calls…” and I assumed he was working, because he was the safe guy. The nice guy. Older than me and stable. The one trying to earn his Uncle’s affections and prove himself and climb the ladder.


    "Not here," Jamal informed, his voice dropping into that familiar patronizing tone he used whenever I didn''t quite meet his social standards.


    My brows furrowed as each breath was a struggle. "I''m sorry, am I making a scene?" I touched a hand to my chest, the gesture mockingly demure. "Embarrassing you?" I knew that I was making a scene—the very reason George thought I was never good enough. Because God forbid I speak my mind, or fail to keep my face a perfect mask of polite indifference like Harper''s.


    Jamal’s eyes darted around the room, more concerned with who might be watching than the fact he''d been caught. Like I was the one causing a scene rather than a woman confronting her cheating boyfriend.


    In the corner of my eyes, a passing waiter hesitated mid-step, frowning at his tray where crystal glasses trembled against each other, as my emotions warred inside. Dare I admit that their gentle chiming was a warning of my rising temper.


    "That''s odd," The waiter muttered to another server. "They won''t stop shaking."


    Jamal''s gaze drifted over my shoulder, and his jaw tightened. "And who''s your... friend?"


    The word ''friend'' carried an edge I''d never heard from him before. Jealousy? After everything, he had the audacity to be jealous?


    "No one," I replied suddenly, aware of the Vampyr''s massive form standing behind me, his presence a wall of lethal grace.


    Abruptly, Matic moved from behind me and faced me. "Ljubica, you need to breathe." He murmured, his hand lightly touching my face and angling my head back to find his eyes. "Don''t allow these mortals to command your emotions. You are in control."


    He inhaled, and I mimicked the action, followed by the exhale, but my heart still thundered.


    How could it not? I''d chosen Jamal because he was safe, predictable—the one man I thought would never hurt me.


    "Viola..." Jamal called out from around Matic''s broad shoulders, as if expecting me to come running.


    Within a heartbeat, Matic turned and adjusted his three-piece suit, effectively blocking me from view. “Matic Ro?i?,” he said, his tone smooth and aristocratic.


    Even at six feet tall, Jamal had to tilt his head back to meet the Vampyr''s icy gaze. Harper''s attention shifted completely, her eyes traveling up Matic''s towering frame and neither of them took Matic’s outstretched hand.


    Instead, Jamal stepped sideways, trying to see around Matic''s broad shoulders like he was nothing more than an inconvenient obstacle. "I don''t know what you''ve gotten yourself mixed up in, Viola," he said, his tone dripping with that familiar condescension, "but we should talk."


    The Vampyr lowered his rejected hand and asked. "This is the boy friend?" The emphasis made Jamal sound like a child playing at being a man.


    Harper tugged at Jamal''s arm. "We don''t have time for this, we shouldn''t keep George waiting," she said, but Jamal remained rooted in place as nearby champagne flutes began to fizz and overflow, sending servers scrambling.


    "He is the boy friend," Matic pressed, a statement. His aristocratic features tightened for just a heartbeat—so brief I almost missed it—before he fixated on Jamal with predatory focus.


    "Not anymore," I answered, and the champagne bubbles erupted like tiny geysers, showering nearby guests who jumped back with startled cries. Turning away, I caught Matic''s gaze. "Let''s go."


    I managed three steps past Matic when Jamal called out. “You can''t keep running away when things get complica-”


    Complicated. The words hung unfinished in the air as gasps erupted around us, followed by Jamal''s startled curse. I spun around, ready to choose the path of violence, only to find that Matic had already made the decision.


    He had Jamal by the back of his collar, dragging him through the crowd like a wayward pup. Something dark and satisfied unfurled in my chest at the sight—this powerful creature dealing out the retribution I''d only dreamed of.


    Matic''s magik carved a path through the sea of designer gowns and tuxedos, sweeping people aside like leaves in a storm. His powers were back, and he wielded them with casual violence that should have horrified me.


    What was he doing? I wondered.


    Every inch of me wanted to pull Matic back, to stop him before he crossed an inevitable line. But another part—a darker, quieter part—acknowledged something strangely beautiful in his ruthless display of control. I shouldn''t have found it appealing, watching him part the crowd like a dark god among mortals, but the savage grace of it stirred something primal within me.


    Why was Matic lashing out like this?


    I tried to convince myself it couldn’t be because of me—he barely knew me. Even if he thought I was his wife, I didn’t look like her. My gaze flickered to Jamal’s flailing form and his pleading eyes as I tried to recall if anything in our conversation could have triggered Matic’s reaction.


    It didn’t make sense.


    "Wait! Matic," I shouted, and lifted my dress slightly near my hips so I could move faster and catch up. "You can''t do that!"


    "Can''t and won''t, are two very different choices," He replied over the horrified murmurs of the guests.


    Jamal’s feet dragged on the ground, as I passed Harper who stood frozen, her mouth open in shock, as her date was hauled away.


    The Vampyr stopped near a massive buffet table and in front of a towering chocolate fountain. With deliberate slowness, he dipped one finger into the cascading chocolate and brought it to his lips, tasting it with aristocratic curiosity.


    Without warning, he seized Jamal by the neck, hauled him up, and shoved his head down into the massive bowl of chocolate, submerging him and holding him there.


    Jamal''s arms flailed wildly, splattering expensive chocolate across designer suits and silk dresses. A few male guests attempted to approach the Vampyr but Matic’s magik pushed them back. He wasn’t even looking at who was there, he did it automatically.


    “He''s going to kill him!” Harper''s shriek cut through the growing chaos. But I noticed she hadn''t moved to help—she stood rooted in place.


    The crowd now drew back in horror, phones had appeared like fireflies in the faint lighting, ready to capture Toronto''s latest society scandal.


    “Matic!” I yelled at him as panic clawed at my chest—not for Jamal''s safety, though maybe it should have been but for the scene we were causing. “You can’t drown people in chocolate.”


    The absurdity of my words hit me as soon as I said them. Drowning someone in chocolate was surely frowned upon in any era.


    “Why not?” Matic replied, glancing over his shoulder, and his voice dripped with dark charm. “Men without loyalty or honor met far worse ends than this.”


    His eyes glinted with an unapologetic resolve, but his words stirred something fierce within me. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Matic was defending my honor—a son of Asmodeus, with all his darkness and fury, was unleashing his wrath over my betrayal with the same intensity he’d shown fighting witches in the forest.


    While Jamal had hidden his affair behind gentle smiles and hollow promises, here was this ancient being, barely grasping modern norms, who dealt out justice with brutal efficiency. The irony wasn''t lost on me—that this dangerous immortal, who''d once pinned me against a tree and promised to destroy me, now acted as my dark avenger.


    Granted, death by chocolate seemed almost comical, but the action itself—and the thought behind it—stirred something wicked inside me.


    How was I drawn to something so undeniably dark?


    "My, have you not changed at all."


    That voice was different and seemed to echo around the room. I spun toward it, and there stood Fraden Saldana, the man I had seen on countless magazine covers. His face plastered across social media, his name revered in every industry.


    Despite being centuries old, he appeared barely in his early forties, preserved in that perfect moment between youth and maturity. His dark hair was short and curly. Skin a warm bronze and as he approached, I realized the entire ballroom had gone still—every guest, server, and musician frozen in place like elaborate statues.


    What the hell was happening? My thoughts scrambled.


    "Tomás," Matic murmured in acknowledgment, releasing Jamal''s slumped form. Who was frozen, slumped over the fountain and gripping the edge and gasping for air, chocolate dripped from his face in thick, sticky rivulets.


    Tension crackled as Matic prowled toward Fraden. Every line of his body spoke of barely leashed power, as dark chocolate stained the borrowed three-piece suit Kaylee had loaned us.


    I watched him approach Katherine''s brother, my pulse thundering against my ribs.


    Should I run?


    Find cover?


    The last time Matic had faced multiple witches, he''d torn through them like paper. My feet carried me backward, bracing for violence—for shadow demons or lightning or whatever chaos was about to erupt in this timeless bubble.


    Instead, the men collided in a fierce embrace, centuries of shared history evident in every movement. Not the careful greeting of old friends, but the desperate clutch of brothers who''d thought each other lost forever.


    Fraden''s voice echoed through the still ballroom as he clapped Matic on the back. "Five centuries, old friend," he said, his voice thick with emotion.


    "Five centuries too long," Matic replied.


    I stood there, utterly lost, watching these two powerful beings embrace. The tech mogul and the ancient Vampyr. Technically, both were ancient from what I learned yesterday but this wasn''t the reunion of enemies— I think, though I was still on edge.


    The knot in my stomach tightened.


    If Fraden and Matic had been this close, what did that mean for Katherine''s betrayal? I expected the worst, as around me everything was quiet, all except for the cars and life outside of this castle.


    Something shifted in my peripheral vision—or maybe it was just paranoia—and my eyes snapped toward the movement. There was nothing there.


    "How are you doing this?" I wondered aloud. "Freezing everyone in this room? Is the entire castle frozen?"


    The men had withdrawn from their embrace when Fraden nodded toward me. "Who is she?"


    My gaze swept across the space. Not a whisper stirred, not a breath moved. Time magik on this scale should have been impossible—even the most powerful witches avoided it, the cost too steep.


    “That''s what I want to know," Matic countered, his gaze sharp and unwavering.


    My thoughts jumped to Kaylee in the kitchen with her staff, to Emery who had vanished into the crowd. Where the hell did she go?


    Fraden asked, “How are you here?”


    Matic gestured toward me, "She freed me."


    Fraden now sauntered toward me and extended his hand. “Fraden Saldana.”


    “Viola Bennet,” I accepted his hand.


    “As for the spell—” He gestured at the frozen scene around us, “—I''m borrowing power from the earth''s ley lines. The castle sits at a convergence point, making it... convenient for moments requiring privacy.”


    “You’re an Aetherborn,” I said, not really a question, though I think I remembered the different classes of witches, warlocks and titles.


    Fraden nodded, his gaze keen, assessing. “Indeed, one of the few remaining.”


    I knew what he meant. Aetherborn abilities were rare, inherited like precious heirlooms, allowing them to tap into the earth''s natural ley lines. Other witches would kill for even a fraction of that power, which made Aetherborn both envied and feared. Their raw power made them natural leaders in the supernatural world.


    I had never encountered an Aetherborn myself—only read of them in history books and whispered legends.


    Fraden then turned toward his friend, "She freed you and the first thing you did was come straight for me." It wasn''t a question, as he focused on the Vampyr.


    The tech mogul''s tone carried the weary familiarity of someone who''d known Matic''s impulsive nature for centuries.


    “I would have sought Katherine first,” Matic''s voice hardened, “but I''m told she''s dead.” His head tilted slightly, studying Fraden. “And then I saw your face painted upon some strange bound parchment…" His words trailed off, the confusion evident in his tone as he struggled to comprehend modern marketing.


    “It was a magazine,” I told Fraden and by default Matic.


    Fraden smiled and laughed softly, “Ah, I see. Well, my sister died shortly after she sealed you away.” He confirmed what Emery wasn’t too sure about, stories from a lifetime ago—a history long forgotten.


    Nevertheless, the words fell heavy in the frozen air and deafening silence followed.


    “You actually did it,” Fraden cleared his throat and his words weren''t a question. “You freed Matic.”


    Hesitant, I shrugged and told him. “It''s not like I knew what was happening or what I was saying. I heard voices and saw visions and I followed them,” My confession tumbled from my lips and my gaze drifted to Matic, who had wandered to the buffet and was now examining a Truffle Deviled Egg with skepticism. He bit into it, then cursed in another language.


    Fraden glanced back at his friend. “I wouldn''t bother,” He said to him, amusement lacing his tone. “While I have everything frozen, the tastes, textures—nothing will be quite right.”


    Turning back to me, his expression grew serious. I shifted under his scrutiny and admitted. “I shouldn''t have done it,” I glanced at Matic, who was now inspecting the caviar with the same look of disappointment. “It was stupid and reckless. I should have never lis—”


    “Reckless?” Matic scoffed, abandoning his culinary exploration. “I was unjustly imprisoned.”


    “The verdict is still out on what exactly happened,” I told him and the look on Fraden’s face spoke volumes, though I couldn''t decode its meaning.


    Fraden''s expression shifted like quicksilver—pain bleeding into understanding, then hardening into something darker before settling into that careful mask of neutrality. Whatever history lay between these men, I couldn''t begin to understand.


    “Matic,” Fraden called out. “You grow soft, allowing this woman to taunt you.” The voice carried a note of warning, though his lips curved into a slight smile. “Few dare speak to him with such boldness,” he said to me.


    Crossing my arms over my chest, I shot back. “Well, Matic has done one too many triggering things that have seared into my brain for life. He can handle a little attitude.”


    “Ah,” was Fraden’s only reply before he turned to his friend. "She has quite a bold tongue.”


    A low chuckle rumbled from the Vampyr, “The little witch tends to speak in riddles.”


    "My friend," Fraden''s voice softened with something like pity. "You''re the one out of time here. What sounds like riddles to you is simply five centuries of language evolution." His gaze swept over the frozen scene—the phones, the modern dress, the champagne fountain. "The world has changed tremendously."


    Matic murmured a retort and as they conversed, I observed the two men, wondering why Katherine’s brother still treated Matic like family rather than foe—a fact that raised more questions than answers.


    Unless, this was all an act and Fraden didn’t want to ruffle the Vampyr’s feathers.


    “As I digress,” Fraden pulled me out of my thoughts. “If what you told me was true, then I''ll be damned if she actually did it."


    “She…you mean me?” I caught the shift in his words.


    “Katherine,” Fraden clarified, and I stared between them. “You''re not the first to attempt breaking the seal.” He told me, “But you are the first to succeed."


    “I knew it,” I breathed, pieces clicking into place.


    Matic, now wandering around the frozen guests, asked. “Knew what?”


    “The warlock in the chamber had said that it’s been almost one hundred years but he didn’t finish his sentence and I had no idea what he was talking about at the time.” I studied both of the men, before adding. “And in the forest, when the witches had impaled you and I felt the pain, the witch knew almost instantly— that I was the one who freed you.”


    Fraden''s gaze swept over the frozen tableau—Jamal still bent over the chocolate fountain, Harper frozen mid-shriek, phones suspended in the act of recording what would have been Toronto''s most viral scandal.


    I asked him, “How many more had attempted to break the seal?”


    He moved closer to his friend, his steps measured and careful, like someone approaching a sleeping predator.


    “The night Katherine died, she could barely speak through her injuries, but she did something peculiar—she released her soul from her body.” Fraden’s hands clenched and unclenched as he spoke, and I now noticed blueish-black veins pulsing and creeping up his neck.


    Across the room, Fraden studied Matic and I realized that he was waiting for a reaction but there was nothing. The Vampyr only paused his pacing, and Fraden continued. "Now, at first I had no idea what or why she was doing it,” he continued. “But with her last breath she said that she will fix this. Then she spoke something, her voice was so faint it was hard to tell and before I knew it, her soul vanished, and my sister was dead in my arms."


    Matic stood unnaturally still, his face a mask of marble, betraying nothing. The same eerie calm I''d witnessed when Emery mentioned Katherine''s death settled over him like frost. Only his eyes, usually so expressive in their cruelty or amusement, grew distant, gazing through us, through time itself.


    “I don''t understand,” I broke the heavy silence. “What does that mean? What did Katherine do?”


    "Three years after Katherine''s death, on the exact anniversary of her sealing Matic away, a woman appeared." Fraden''s eyes locked onto mine as he paced the frozen room, his fingers trailing over wine glasses held by frozen individuals. "She spoke of visions—a man in chains, voices urging her to Phantombrook. Back then, we hadn''t built the temple. It was still forest."


    Curiosity had my eyes following his movement, and I asked. “What happened to her?”


    "Her name was Jane and we tried to redirect her and send her away but she was adamant. She found where Matic was imprisoned. The moment she started chanting, they killed her." His jaw tightened. “After that, every twenty-two years like clockwork, another woman would appear on the anniversary, trying to free you.” He turned toward Matic.


    Every twenty-two years. The words struck like a physical blow. This year, I turned twenty-two.


    “This is reincarnation?” The question felt thick on my tongue.


    Fraden nodded. “Aetherborn can sever themselves from the cycle of death and rebirth. But Katherine—she did the opposite. She bound her soul to keep returning until you were freed.” He angled his body toward Matic, whose brooding expression made it clear he wasn’t merely listening. The son of Asmodeus was never simply anything.


    The air crackled with tension, and like in the forest, dark wisps of magik began to simmer around his body.


    “You''re lying,” Matic''s voice dropped to something ancient and lethal.


    “I am not,” Fraden held his ground even as veins stretched under his jaw now, darker beneath his skin. He didn''t flinch when shadows began to writhe and coil around Matic''s form, haunting and terrifying in their dance.


    I stepped further back, my heart thundering against my ribs. But the Aetherborn didn''t move an inch, facing his old friend''s fury as if he''d done it a thousand times before.


    Matic didn''t believe a word of Fraden’s explanation. And given what I''d seen him do to those who crossed him, that disbelief promised violence.